


The Bosmer And The Wolf

by MissDelight



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Choking, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Werewolf Instincts: Dominating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2704241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDelight/pseuds/MissDelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Dragonborn gets wounded and nearly raped, Farkas' werewolf instincts kick in and dominate the poor Bosmer.<br/>Action, almost rape, asphyxiation, dubious consent, hot Farkas on elf sexy times.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [ this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4941.html?thread=10169933#t10169933) on the SkyrimKinkMeme.

Lhaenir brought his knees up on the saddle, raising his lithe figure into a crouch and, to Farkas' amazement, cautiously rising into a standing position.  The bandits ahead of them had the lead.  They were all but out of sight, vanishing around the corner of an abandoned fort.  Lhaenir raised his bow, then in a flash took three shots in succession, and dropped back down into the saddle with feline grace, a satisfied half smile on his lips.

Farkas swallowed back the things that smile did to him.  Trying to focus on the chase, he let his wolf enjoy the pursuit, feeling the exhilaration of the chill wind in his hair with clarity beyond that of a normal human.  He lived for the chase.  Lhaenir glanced back at him and grinned, as if reading his thoughts.  Farkas felt his face light up despite himself at the gesture, and the two urged their horses around the fort in eager pursuit.

He noted a dead bandit with three arrows stuck in his back as they neared the bend.  At this rate he'd be buying drinks tonight.  Again.

Farkas' human mind warned caution as they rounded the bend, just a moment before he spotted the trap in the road.  He forced his horse to the side just in time to avoid falling both horse and rider into the covered hole, but too late to avoid his horse stumbling and dancing to avoid taking a spill.  Farkas was thrown off, landing in a pile of snow beside the road.  

Nothing broken, but completely winded he grunted, pulling himself up.  His horse limped up to him sorrowfully.

Farkas gently stroked her muzzle, making soothing sounds.  

He looked up at the winding forest path above him with a deep sigh.  

It was going to be a long walk.  

Lhaenir, though unimpressive in stature, could handle himself, he told himself.  It wasn't his place to worry after the shorter man, even if the elf barely rose past Farkas' elbow.  Sure, in hand to hand, the Bosmer was at a woeful disadvantage - Farkas had balked at the idea that this could be the legendary Dragonborn - but his poise and dexterity was unlike anything Farkas had seen.  He hurried, despite repeating to himself that the Dragonborn would be fine, trying to believe it was only because he didn't want Lhaenir getting further ahead in kills, and not because he was worried for his brother's boyfriend.

\------------------

    Lhaenir was on top of the bandits once more by the time he realized with a start that Farkas was no longer behind him.  Furrowing his brow, he turned to face the problem at hand with a frown.  He could find his Companion later.  Farkas could handle himself.  He wasn't graceful, and he was terrible with a bow, but he was still a force to be reckoned with.  Punching the man was like hitting a break wall, Lhaenir thought with a smile.

    An arrow whizzed by his ear, and he chuckled.  Nord bandits were terrible marksmen.

    Four bandits remained.  The sooner he finished them off, the sooner he could find Farkas and get to the nearest inn and out of the cold he thought with a shiver.  Lhaenir was tempted to use his voice to shout the weapons from the hands of his enemies, but knew first hand that horses did not respond well to the sudden use of his thu'um.

    The riders spread out, circling in different directions.  He glanced in all directions, before following after the mage.  As he chased the bandit through the woods, he felt perfectly at home.  The Companions understood what it meant to hunt.  The moment he had set foot inside Jorrvaskr, Lhaenir had felt leaving Valenwood had been the right decision.  Meeting his now Shield-Brothers and Sisters had cemented the feeling beyond shadow of doubt.

    Holding himself steady with his knees, he nocked an arrow.  Exhaling, he let it fly.  A half smile of triumph formed on his lips.  Two down, three to go.  He almost felt bad for Farkas.  This would be the third time in a row he had to buy drinks.

    The beating of hooves alerted him to the three remaining bandits converging on him.  He raised his bow to meet the less than formidable archer head on, but was forced to duck as one of the men dressed in chain suddenly loosed a ball of fire in his direction.

    Lhaenir shook the surprise off, forcing his horse away from his pursuers.  Bandits who branched out into skills beyond beating things with a sharp or blunt weapon were rare, but not unheard of.  This was a clever bunch so far by all accounts; especially by bandit standards.

    A little too clever, perhaps, he thought, as he had the distinct impression he was being forced in a particular direction.  His suspicions were confirmed when his horse let out a shrill cry as it encountered sharp caltrops, hidden in the snow.

    Lhaenir tumbled from the back of his horse, lading in a crouch.  The three bandits quickly bore down upon him.  He shouted the first rider from the back of his horse with a loud FUS!, while shooting an arrow at the second.  The first bandit was launched over a cliff and the second fatally struck in the chest and knocked from his horse. Before he could turn and fight the last man, a rope caught him around the neck, and yanked back quickly as the man holding the rope urged his horse into a gallop.  Lhaenir dropped onto his back and lost his grip on his bow, while fumbling to grasp the rope dragging him painfully across the ice and dirt.  The best he could manage was to keep enough pressure off of his neck to keep himself breathing in quick gasps as his body was mercilessly torn across the ground at high speed.  The rider atop the horse looked down at him with a sneer and whipped his horse faster.  Lhaenir recognized him as the armored Nord whom had cast the fire spell.  His pulse quickened as he struggled, trying to breath and endure the burning pain, while desperately holding on for dear life.

    Finally the rider slowed after what seemed to him an eternity.  He came to a stop beside a low-hanging tree, and cast the rope in his hand over the closest branch. The bandit, a blonde Nord with shoulder-length hair, dismounted and pulled the rope at the same time, hoisting Lhaenir to his feet in the same motion.  Lhaenir grunted, his muscles quivering from the strain of holding the rope as he was dragged, and from the adrenaline coursing through his body.  He gagged as the Nord pulled him up by the neck, his feet barely touching the ground.  Sputtering and gasping, he tried to draw the knife from his belt, but the bandit easily smacked it from his hand.

    Lhaenir swung a fist at the smug bastard, but the man caught his hand with little effort and wrenched it behind his back, causing him to let out a half-strangled yell of pain.  A slow smile spread across the Nord's face as he took Lhaenir's left arm and wrenched it back as well.

    "So, this is a Dragonborn," he said, removing a length of rope from his belt.  "I expected someone taller."

    Lhaenir snarled at him, trying to rip his hands free.  His body was filthy with dirt and soaked with snow.  For the time being he was too incensed to feel the chill of the cold yet, or the burning of his wounds.

    The Nord tied his arms painfully behind him, then stepped back to watch him struggle.  Lhaenir had to fight against the exhaustion in his legs.  Each time he sagged even slightly, the rope cut off his breathe.  His neck burned and his body shook with pain and anger as he glared darkly at his captor.

    "Such hateful eyes," the Nord laughed, idly tossing his dagger in one hand.  "From the one who killed my crew," he added, closing the distance between them.  Lhaenir grit his teeth together as the man placed the blade under his chin.  Ever so slowly, he slid the dagger down the length of his chest.  Lhaenir was uncertain if the act was meant to be sensual or threatening.  At his waist, he snapped the blade, slicing through leather.  Lhaenir heard the sound of his coin purse landing in the Nord's hand with relief.  Let the bastard rob me and leave me here to hang, he prayed.  He knew Farkas would find him eventually.

    The bandit hefted the bag, the coins jingling, as he inspected its contents.

    "Not bad," he said, tying the rather copious bag of septims to his belt.  "But not enough."

    Lhaenir made a strangled gasp as the blonde grabbed his chin and forced him to look up into his smoldering expression.  "Not nearly enough."

    Lhaenir cried out as the Nord roughly cut away his belt, ripping his pants down.

    "So, this is a Dragonborn," the man repeated, echoing his earlier words.  "I expected- Well, I suppose you'd blame the cold?"

    "Ffff...uck o..ffff," Lhaenir gasped as best he could, between the few breaths he could manage despite the rope.  His body was growing heavier, leaving his neck in perpetual agony.

He heard two chain gauntlets land on the ground.  Tears burned the corners of his eyes as he felt the painful grip of a large, cold hand on his crotch.

"You first," the bandit mocked, squeezing him until he let out a helpless cry.

Shaking with cold, choking, scared for his life, livid with anger, and half-dead from being dragged through the forest, Lhaenir distantly considered he couldn't have imagined a less romantic setting if he had tried.  His body was inclined to agree, he thought with a shiver.  This seemed to do nothing to discourage the Nord bandit, who was apparently more intent on causing him pain than anything else.  Powerless to warm his body, Lhaenir's body was wracked by shivering.  The only warmth was the Nord behind him, wearing some kind of spell over his body, so that even the metal of his armor felt warm as he was pressed up against him.  Despite the other man's warmth, he struggled to pull away, though his attempts proved to be in vain.  He felt the bandit spreading him apart with disgust.  The intermittent oxygen was making him faint, but he could dimly hear the Nord bastard spitting in his hand and feel an unwanted finger prodding inside him.

A grunt of protest escaped his lips, but his body felt so far away, he could barely feel the intrusion as the world began to melt away.

Dizzy and cold, he looked into the snow and saw a shadow.  He blinked, trying to distinguish reality from dream, squinting at the figure of a black wolf.

The pain and lack of air finally took their toll, and the Dragonborn slumped, slowly succumbing to unconsciousness.  He heard snarling and a shocked cry from his captor, before he gratefully surrendered to the darkness.

 

\----------------

 

Farkas spat the remains of the bandit from between his lips as he returned to his human form.  His human mind surfaced, throwing aside his wolf, urgently impressing upon his mind that Lhaenir could not breathe.  Farkas quickly lifted the tiny Bosmer up to ease the pressure from the rope on his throat as he drew a dagger and began gently cutting him free of his bonds.

He wrapped the deathly still, bloodied man in his cloak and moved his dagger beside his pale lips, his heart not daring to beat in anticipation.  A small fog appeared, a hint of breathe from the motionless elf.  

Farkas clutched the bundle in his arms close as he sank to his knees, overwrought.  He pressed his eyes into Lhaenir's dirty hair and silently wept.

 

\----------------

 

When Lhaenir awoke, he was staring up into a kaleidoscope of falling snow, twisting and drifting down at him from the sky in what appeared to be a never ending trail.  He blew a few flakes away which drifted toward his lips.  Above him he could also see a strong chin, covered in black stubble, and shoulder length hair, with bright white flakes of snow standing out against it.  He recognized Farkas and relaxed.

His leather breeches were once more around his waist, to his relief.  Experimentally, he took a deep breath, relishing in the ability to do so.  He let it out, but winced at the pain in his throat.  Squeezing a ball of white magicka in his hand, he silently let the small healing energy wash over his aching body.

    The snow abruptly disappeared as Farkas opened a door.

Lhaenir let himself be carried as Farkas made arrangements with an innkeeper and then took him upstairs to a room.  A feeling of dread crept over him when he imagined Farkas leaving him in the cold, empty bed.  He was too tired to voice a complaint and barely cognizant, but he didn't feel like being alone.  His nerves were shot and he felt on edge.

To his relief, and mild confusion, after pulling the blanket aside and gently setting him down, Farkas climbed in bed with him, pulling him into his embrace.  Not one to scorn good fortune, Lhaenir moved closer to Farkas' warmth and slept with peace of mind. **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Lhaenir half awoke the following morning.  The unfamiliar smells and bed sheets told him he was sleeping at an inn as usual.  Only with one key difference. He was pressed up against a warm man beside him, his scent and size both familiar and comforting.  With a small, satisfied sigh he moved closer to his companion while casting another healing spell, driving away the ache of his stinging wounds. The man beside his side curled around him, inviting him closer.  Lhaenir felt strangely wonderful as he pressed his face against the large chest, running an arm across taut muscles and a dusting of soft black hair.

It was as though he fit perfectly against the man beside him.

He had never felt so entirely at peace.

A gigantic arm wound around his waist, strong as iron, yet still somehow a gentle gesture of pure affection.

Through a haze of bliss, he noticed something was off.  

Vilkas seemed more muscular than he remembered.

Lhaenir's gold eyes flew open, his heart sick and racing. With a guilty realization that Vilkas was in Jorrvaskr, he frantically scrambled away from Farkas.

He heard a low rumble from Farkas, and one massive fist locked around his delicate arm. Lhaenir’s gold eyes went wide with shock as Farkas’ iron grip forced him struggling back to his side. The more Lhaenir tried to escape him, the more forceful Farkas became. Kicking and thrashing, Lhaenir tried to force a coherent question from his aching throat.

" _Far...kas?!_ " he managed in a hoarse, confused whisper.

Farkas merely huffed, roughly pinning the petite man into his large lap.

Lhaenir squirmed and grunted as Farkas firmly pushed him back against the headboard, trapping him against his powerful body and the bed frame. A large bulge pressed between Lhaenir's legs made him gasp. Farkas was rock hard, straining against his leather leggings. The mer shuddered at the feeling of the impressive length, rubbing tantalizingly against him.  A wretched guilt gripped his heart as his body began to respond.

The entire scene was surreal, and the Dragonborn wondered if he was dreaming.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamt guiltily about Farkas.  But never in such a forceful way.  Lhaenir looked up questioningly at Farkas and gasped.

The other man’s dark eyes were a misty white, like his wolf's.

Lhaenir tried to speak again, but his throat was too raw.

Farkas began to press kisses on his sensitive ears and caress his skin in a way that made Lhaenir whimper with need and shame.

" _Stop,_ " Lhaenir whispered imploringly, watching Farkas' misty eyes.

Farkas seemed to hear nothing, sighing hungrily in his ear and undoing his belt in a way that made Lhaenir painfully hard.

Lhaenir hadn't expected any response from his plea, but now he was certain Farkas wasn't a willing party to what his body was doing. Farkas would never force himself on Lhaenir or anyone else unwilling.

His wolf was forcing him to do something he'd never forgive himself for.

Lhaenir pictured Farkas and Vilkas driven to hate one another struggled harder to escape. He cared too much for both of them to let anything ruin the brothers’ bond.

Lhaenir cast about for a way to appeal to Farkas' human mind, lost somewhere beneath his wolf.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Farkas,” he croaked, trying to decide how many words of power it would take to knock the muscle bound nord off of him. Three, unfortunately, seemed to be the only number.

He opened his mouth, brows knit together and ready with a healing spell.

A choked noise came from his throat, his thu'um burning in his lungs, unwilling to answer the command of a hoarse whisper.

Suddenly, Farkas heard Lhaenir begin to gasp, somewhere deep beneath the overbearing tide of his wolf’s mind. The sound became more urgent, turning into hyperventilating and then labored breathing.

His human consciousness roused, merging with his wolf's, their thoughts becoming part of the same tide.

Lhaenir's body went limp in his arms, his troubled breaths replaced with frightening silence and Farkas began to gain the upper hand in the battle of wills between himself and his wolf.

Farkas released the still Dragonborn and sat back in alarm, gently touching his face in concern.

His mate lay still.

A fierce and painful ache gripped his heart.

Farkas felt the dense fog surrounding his thoughts clear as his mind rose above the current, taking control of his wolf.

_His mate_.

The thought shared between himself and his wolf echoed in his mind.

His wolf thought Lhaenir was their _mate_.

And his mind had wishfully agreed.

Little wonder why he was having difficulty controlling his wolf he realized.

"Lhaenir...?" he asked in a throaty voice. He stared uncomfortably at the elf's closed eyes for the second time in two days.

"Lhaenir?!" he shouted, shaking the elf. Panic mixed with dread as his memory returned, the sound of Lhaenir's hoarse whisper begging him to stop playing in his ears.

Just as Farkas thought his heart would stop, Lhaenir smirked.  

Propping himself up on either elbow, Lhaenir opened his eyes and whispered good-naturedly, "About time you woke up."

Farkas stared, dumbfounded, torn between punching the Dragonborn and hanging his head in shame.

"Don't look so gloomy," Lhaenir said gently, his voice still little more than a whisper.  He sat up, buckling his belt. "I knew that wasn't you. You'd never hurt me. Or Vilkas."

Farkas covered his face with his hand.

Vilkas.

He'd never willingly hurt his brother in a thousand years. He hated his wolf, and he hated himself for losing control to the horny bastard. Bitterly, he wondered how much the wolf was to blame and how much was his own repressed desires.

Whatever his feelings were for Lhaenir, the elf belonged to Vilkas.

"I'm sorry," Farkas said, the words sounding useless and insignificant in his ears. "Divines," he whispered angrily, pressing his lips together.

Lhaenir sat up, trying to comfort him.

"Hey, don't Vilkas-out on me," the Bosmer said with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood with an inside joke. "It's alright. It never happened. Just tell me what's happening with you, Farkas. Your wolf was getting very... _friendly_."

Farkas calmed his nerves and steeled himself. He was a Companion and a man of honor. He'd done wrong, whether he had meant to or not. The only thing that mattered now, was how he carried himself.

Lhaenir watched Farkas stare earnestly into his eyes, looking more like himself: strong and direct.

"My wolf doesn't understand that you and my brother are together," he said, his gravelly voice unwavering.

Lhaenir was at a loss.  He hadn’t expected Farkas to be so forthright.

"I guess he likes me, then," the Bosmer replied softly.

Farkas snorted.

"That's something of an understatement, but yeah."

Lhaenir ran a hand through his dirty hair, wishing he could lighten the mood. He sighed, realizing he was still a mess from the previous day, in more way than one. But that could wait. They had this to deal with.

"I've never seen you lose control of your wolf," Lhaenir said, thinking back on the multitude of grisly jobs they'd done together in the past. Farkas had never slipped. Those misty white eyes had never shown up before today.

Farkas gave him a hard stare, and Lhaenir could tell he was choosing his words.

"It's difficult for me to see you hurt," he explained, his voice raw with honesty. "Yesterday, when I saw what that bandit was doing to you..."

Lhaenir jumped as a terrifying snarl tore unexpectedly from Farkas. His dark eyes vanished, replaced by the moonlight colored glow of his wolf's.

Lhaenir held his breath, ready to use his magicka to light the bedspread on fire if Farkas lost himself a second time.  He doubted he’d fall for him playing dead a second time, if it came to that.

To his relief, Farkas shakily exhaled and closed his eyes. His breathing was still angry when he opened them again, but they were once again their normal color and he seemed marginally calmer.

"My wolf can't stand to see you hurt, either,” Farkas said, carefully looking away from Lhaenir’s bruised neck and matted hair.  “He wants to protect you, and I do too. I get lost in our thoughts, so I can barely think straight. When we want the same thing, it's hard," Farkas explained, his teeth grit in frustration. "I can't fight two instincts at the same time; his and mine."

Lhaenir watched sadly as Farkas stood and headed for the door, silently willing him not to go.

"I'm sorry, but I can't trust myself around you,” Farkas said, grabbing his gear.  “Not right now."

Lhaenir wanted to make him stay, wanted to tell him what was in his heart, and somehow make the tense air between them vanish. But he thought of Vilkas back in Jorrvaskr. A wonderful man whom deserved better than his boyfriend running off and professing feelings for his brother while the two of them were committed to each other.

"Farkas?" he asked, as the tall Companion was almost out the door.

Farkas paused and looked back at Lhaenir who was giving his brightest smile.

"Thank you. For your honesty. For thinking of Vilkas. And, while we're at it, for saving my life yesterday," he took a deep breath and let out a sigh, before continuing, his voice filled with honest emotion. "Seriously... thank you. For everything."

Farkas nodded awkwardly and left, closing the door behind him.

The moment the door shut, Lhaenir flopped backward into the bed and stared at the ceiling.

He suspected he had done the right thing, but still felt miserable.

Farkas had been honest.  It had taken a lot of courage.  

Lhaenir jumped out of bed before his racing thoughts could catch up to him.  He needed to bathe and return to Jorrvaskr as fast as possible.


End file.
